


The Boy Who Fled From Death

by threevi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Horcruxes, Possession, Tom Riddle's Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 16:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15800262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threevi/pseuds/threevi
Summary: In the Chamber of Secrets, Harry meets Tom Riddle. What would happen if Tom decided to make a deal with Harry, a deal that would save Ginny's life, but forever doom Harry's own soul?"Tom Riddle, I offer my life to you."





	The Boy Who Fled From Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oceanbreeze7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceanbreeze7/gifts).



_He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny?_  
  
_He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir._  
  
_Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall._  
  
_Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair._  
  
_“Ginny!” Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees. “Ginny — don’t be dead — please don’t be dead —” He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny’s shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn’t Petrified. But then she must be…_  
  
_“Ginny, please wake up,” Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny’s head lolled hopelessly from side to side._  
  
_“She won’t wake,” said a soft voice._  
  
_Harry jumped and spun around on his knees._  
  
_A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him._  
  
_“Tom — Tom Riddle?”_  
  
_– Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_  
  
The spectre of Tom tilted his head to the side questioningly, his casual posture contrasting oddly with his unblinking gaze. The duality of it was jarring – like a butterfly in a dusty crypt, a flower growing in the depths of the darkest cave. A proud king in a derelict catacomb.  
  
“Harry Potter.” He intoned, his voice imbued with a sense of wonder. Harry subconsciously took a step back. This wasn’t like those strange, yet harmless ‘fans’ who marveled at his presence in Diagon Alley. It wasn’t like those sneers that Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape hadn’t quite managed to suppress when they first met him. When Tom Riddle said Harry’s name, it sounded… _hungry_.  
  
“Tom… Are you a ghost?” Harry’s voice wasn’t shaking. He wasn’t afraid of some teenager just because he’d looked at him funny. Almost exactly a year ago, Harry had defied the Dark Lord Voldemort himself. Tom Riddle couldn’t possibly compare to that, ghost or not.  
  
If he keeps repeating that, he might almost believe it.  
  
“Not a ghost, no. I am much more than some meagre apparition. But enough about me; tell me, Harry… Do you know what it feels like to be trapped?”  
  
Harry startled as Tom suddenly stalked forward, his not-quite-tangible feet making no noise against the stone floor of the Chamber as he closed in on Harry with inhuman speed.  
  
“You do, don’t you? I can see it now, yes… Yes, we truly are quite similar, are we not, Harry Potter?” Tom murmured as he pierced Harry’s soul with his intense stare. His eyes were red, Harry idly noted, his mind suddenly feeling sluggish, soft. Feathers and wool pressing in on his brain from all sides.  
  
“You know what it’s like to be locked away, in darkness, with nothing but your own thoughts to give you company. Unsure if you’re even still alive. If you were ever alive in the first place. When you were locked in that cupboard, Harry, you would have given anything to see the light of day again, wouldn’t you?”  
  
The shock of hearing Tom mention the Dursleys’ cupboard cut through some of the haze that was enveloping Harry’s thoughts.  
  
“Are… are you reading my mind?” Harry rasped, his voice breaking mid-sentence as his whole body broke out into shivers. What is happening to me?  
  
“Trapped in that hell, sometimes for entire days. Tell me, Harry, what would you have done if you were trapped in that cupboard for _fifty long years?_ ”  
  
Harry staggered as his mind was suddenly assaulted by pictures. Flashes, disjointed memories of darkness, silence, and complete, utter isolation flooded his every thought, years of slowly wasting away in solitary madness condensed into a single heartbeat. He just barely suppressed the urge to vomit.  
  
“Thousands upon thousands of days, Harry. After all that time, if a light appeared, would you not have held on to that light with all your might, and refused to go? Even if that meant draining the life of an innocent, can you say you wouldn’t have done it?”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened. “Is that what you did to Ginny?”  
  
Tom slowly took a step back, finally giving Harry some room to breathe, and nodded, averting his eyes for the first time.  
  
“After fifty years of being trapped in that diary, Ginny Weasley wrote to me. She opened herself up to me completely, pure, innocent, full of light, and all I had to do was take hold of that light. And now, as her life fades away, I will finally be free of that diary’s accursed pages.”  
  
His wits slowly returning, Harry gathered his courage once more. His mouth was dry, and his vision was drifting in and out of focus, but he refused to acknowledge his weakness. He wouldn’t let it overcome him, not now.  
  
“I won’t let you.” He declared defiantly, finally fully in control of his voice.  
  
Tom simply smirked, focusing his eyes on Harry once more. “And how are you going to stop me, _hero_? With this, maybe?”  
  
He pulled a wand – Harry’s wand – out of his pocket, casually twirling it between his fingers.  
  
“What next, Harry? Are you going to punch me, like your Muggle cousin? Are you going to burn me away with the power of love, like you did with poor professor Quirrel? Or are you going to stand there and hope somebody else sacrifices themselves for you, like your dear mother did?” He mocked, his eyes glittering with sadistic mirth like twin mesmerising rubies.  
  
Harry frowned. Tom really did read his mind, then. Even Ginny didn't know about what he had done to Quirrel, so the only way Tom could have found out was by rifling through Harry’s memories somehow. But if that was the case, then…  
  
“What do you want from me, Tom?”  
  
The older boy frowned. “Pardon?”  
  
“This entire time, we’ve been talking. Just talking. You have my wand, you could have killed me easily. Hell, you could probably summon that basilisk of yours and make it kill me. You didn’t need to talk to me, since you can pull anything you want to know right out of my brain. But instead, you wanted me to understand you. You even shoved those memories in my brain, of what it was like in the diary. So tell me, what do you want from me?” Harry demanded, his Gryffindor spirit shining through as he glared defiantly at Slytherin’s Heir.  
  
Tom deliberately relaxed his posture, leaning back against his pillar once more.  
  
“Maybe there is something that I want from you. Maybe I could even spare Ginny Weasley’s life. But it would cost you, Harry. Are you willing to pay the price?”  
  
“Well, we won’t know until you tell me, right? Go on, out with it. No need for dramatic pauses.” Harry injected as much sarcasm as he could into his voice, trying to mimic Tom’s casual tone. It didn’t make him feel any better.  
  
Tom twirled Harry’s wand again. “I won’t go back into the diary. I refuse. That means we have two options ahead of us; either I take her life… Or someone else’s.”  
  
Harry hated himself for immediately considering Lockhart. Giving up the malicious fraud wouldn’t be a big loss, would it? The man probably deserved it. But no, Harry forcibly brought that train of thought to a halt. That wasn’t what a Gryffindor would do. Harry got himself into this mess, and he wouldn’t make others pay for his mistakes. Too many people had died for him already.  
  
He swallowed. “What do I have to do?”  
  
“My diary. Take it.” Tom gestured with his wand, wordlessly summoning the artifact into Harry’s hand.  
  
Harry flipped the small book open, leafing through its empty pages. It didn’t seem special at all, and yet, it had caused so much pain…  
  
“What do I do next?” He asked, forcing himself to remain calm. Or at least, calm enough. There was no way to still the waves of cold panic coursing through his body, but at least he could stop himself from crying and screaming when he grit his teeth and focused. There would be time to break down after Ginny is saved.  
  
He desperately wanted to believe that.  
  
Tom waved his wand once again, this time making the very air shiver and twist, moulding it with magic into two familiar shapes – a quill, and a standard potions knife.  
  
“You’re going to use your blood as ink. It’s a shortcut, otherwise you’d have to spend days writing in the diary to establish a link.” Tom answered the wordless question.  
  
Harry sighed. “A contract signed in blood, huh? I guess I really am making a deal with the devil.”  
  
Tom looked oddly pleased with that comparison.  
  
“Alright,” Harry steadied his hand as he pressed the knife against his skin. “What should I write?”

Harry didn't bother asking Tom if this really would save Ginny. He knew the older boy's word couldn't be trusted, and he also knew he had no other choice but to trust him. To calmly, methodically follow his instructions, to sacrifice everything, and hope for a miracle.  
  
“Say that you offer your life to me, and sign it with your name.” Tom instructed, a hint of emotion – impatience, expectation, longing – seeping into his voice.  
  
“Alright, then. Here we go.” Harry murmured, and wrote.  
  
_Tom Riddle, I offer my life to you._  
_—Harry Potter_  
  
The crimson 'ink' flashed gold for a brief moment before disappearing completely, absorbed hungrily into the diary’s ensnaring pages. After a few seconds, the ink returned, forming a response with Tom’s familiar handwriting:  
  
_I accept._  
_—Lord Voldemort_  
  
Harry’s blood suddenly ran cold as his heart skipped a beat. Tom was –  
  
And then he stopped being Harry.  
  
Until the very last second, Harry kept hoping both he and Ginny would escape with their lives somehow. Maybe Dumbledore would suddenly rush in, effortlessly banishing Tom with a wave of his wand. Maybe his mother’s love would save him again, and he would burn Tom into unholy ashes. Some miracle had to happen, somebody had to come and save him, otherwise, _it wouldn’t be right._  
  
But help never came.  
  
Who was he now?  
  
There was no pain. There was no dramatic battle of wills. There was only static, waves upon waves of indecipherable noise drowning his mind, his thoughts, his memories, his hopes, dreams, everything that he was, everything he’d ever been, and everything he could become, all fading into white.  
  
Soon, he couldn’t even tell how much of his mind was left. How could he, when he didn’t know who he was to begin with?  
  
Ginny. He had to save Ginny.  
  
Who was that again? Someone’s sister?  
  
His best friend, Ron?  
  
Hermione?  
  
Where was everyone?  
  
He was alone.  
  
After some time – what felt like years, but could have been minutes – the boy managed to slowly stagger to his feet. He had won. His opponent was gone forever.  
  
Which one was he? Why, wasn’t that obvious?  
  
He was the abused orphan.  
  
He was the half-blood from an old wizarding family.  
  
He had inherited his handsome looks from his father.  
  
His mother had died for him.  
  
He was the one who became a killer at a young age.  
  
He was the one who had defied death itself.  
  
He was Tom Riddle.  
  
_No. He always hated that name._  
  
He was just Harry.  
  
_No. He was destined for greatness._  
  
He was Lord Voldemort.  
  
_No. Voldemort was evil._  
  
There is no good or evil, only power.  
  
_Voldemort killed his parents._  
  
_Voldemort trapped him in a diary and left him behind to rot._  
  
He wasn’t Voldemort.  
  
He was… Harry Potter?  
  
_Yes. We can be Harry Potter._


End file.
